


Sacra Familiae

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Series: Sacra Familiae [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christopher Pike Lives, Dadmiral Christopher Pike, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: It makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle— the strangeness of it. There’s a lassitude in his limbs and a tightness in his chest and as a confused shock of jumbled memories andpaincome back Chris hears a heart monitor give a little blip of alarm and can’t help but wonder,Am I dead?
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Philip Boyce/Christopher Pike
Series: Sacra Familiae [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797217
Comments: 87
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a dream, of course. Even if that’s imperceptible at the beginning. 

They’re arguing in the bar— a continuation of the hurt words from his office earlier. 

The lights are low and there’s an indistinct hum of people in the background; a clatter of ice in glasses and twang of a steel string guitar. Even though the bar is right it just feels so _wrong_. 

He’s being forceful— too forceful, but just wants the kid to _understand_. To understand what it means to sit in that chair and how lucky he is and how if he can’t get through some short-term missions without fucking up, he’ll _never_ get five years. Hell, Jim’ll never get a ship again if he doesn’t grow up and damned if Chris is going to see the Enterprise go out without himself or the kid in command.

Jim stopped arguing back— just sat there at the bar and took it even as Chris felt unease welling in his gut. There was a glass of whisky on the bartop between them but no one was drinking and he just kept speaking, relentlessly, and the kid had never been so quiet in all the years Chris has known him.

Just stared back at Chris— looking smaller than he should. Diminished. And Chris can’t seem to stop the torrent of words that don’t quite feel right. He should have known by then it was a dream, but Jim’s eyes always look like reflected starlight.

Christopher Pike woke with a soft inhale of breath, the name _Jim_ on his lips.

There is no Jim.

In fact, there’s no one.

Chris has been in med bay or hospital enough times in his life, but never woke-up to find himself _alone_ alone. There’s always someone there at first. A nurse or a doctor or on a ship his Chief Medical Officer. For more years than not it was Phil, looking down on him with tired eyes, rueful smile and a reassuring word.

It made the skin on the back of his neck prickle— the strangeness of it. There was a lassitude in his limbs and a tightness in his chest and as a confused shock of jumbled memories and _pain_ come back he heard a heart monitor give a little blip of alarm and couldn’t help but wonder, _Am I dead?_

He’s not. It’s easy enough to dismiss that idea because he’s pretty damn sure if he were dead he wouldn’t have to feel like utter shit. Past trips to medbay have taught him how to read at least some of the biomonitor displays on the wall, and it isn’t good. Major trauma. Massive cardio-pulmonary reconstruction. 

Chris’ arm wouldn’t quite obey his brain, but he eventually got it to shift his hand up onto his chest, focusing on a spot over his right side. He’d been shot.

Not just shot. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped. And Spock… Spock had been there, in some confusing, visceral… The heart monitor gave another blip again and the nursing staff were conspicuous in their absence.

If his hand had been one thing, actually sitting up was another task altogether. Chris’ head was swimming by the time he got mostly upright, and as he coaxed his legs over the side of the bed the world tilted in a way that suggested movement had been a spectacularly bad idea.

Just before he managed to get intimately acquainted with the floor an arm shot out and rebalanced him on the edge of the bed, a muffled curse coming from somewhere overhead.

Phil. In the medical whites of a practicing clinician that he hadn’t worn in years. Not since taking over as deputy surgeon general managing the entire xeno portfolio. 

“Phil?” His voice sounded disused to his own ears— cracked and thin.

“Easy there.” A non-answer. Phil shifted his grip to guide Chris back onto the bed. 

Up close, the doctor’s face looked drawn. Stressed. Something twisted uneasily in Chris’ gut and he pressed, despite the burn in his throat, “Phil?”

“It’s okay, Chris. You’re okay.”

It clearly wasn’t okay, whatever it was. Injecting as much force as he could muster, pathetic though it was, Chris insisted, “Phil.”

That seemed to make a difference, as Phil paused in easing Chris down and murmured, “Just let me look you over, first. Okay?”

Chris couldn’t argue with that. Not when Phil sounded almost uncertain. He waited, patiently, while he was scanned and prodded until Phil eventually set down the scanner and asked, “What do you remember?”

The name came immediately: “John Harrison.”

Phil made a noise in his throat that might have been dismay, before nodding and pulling up a chair so they could be eye to eye. “You’re going to be fine.” Saying the words seemed to reassure Phil as much as Chris. “You were shot with a jumpship pulse energy weapon in the Daystrom command center.”

“I remember.”

Phil blanched, but continued, “We almost lost you. The blast caused massive trauma; you were in asystole when they pulled you out of there. We managed to get you on a bypass and repair the damage before starting your heart again. It was touch and go.”

_Touch and go_ was Phil’s way of saying, _anyone else would have pronounced you dead on arrival_.

“Where is everyone?”

Phil held up a hand, indicating this was a story that needed to be told in order. “You were put on the KIA list while we had you in the cardiopulmonary intensive care unit. I don’t know who did it, or if it was intentional…”

“Why would it be intentional?”

“Jim wanted— demanded— to go after Harrison, and Marcus let him.”

“Because of me?”

Phil turned his hands palm-up in the air, the implication plain.

Chris bit his lip, remembering stern words with Jim and then the admiralty as he tried to make a case for the kid. “So they gave him back the Enterprise?”

Phil nodded, “And he set off for the Klingon border.” At Chris’ expression of surprise, he confirmed, “Harrison fled to Kronos. Marcus armed the Enterprise with experimental long-range stealth torpedoes: Jim was to fire from the edge of the neutral zone and haul ass back into Federation space before the Klingons knew what had happened.”

“Just—” Chris couldn’t quite understand, “Execute him? But that’s against some of the most fundamental laws in the Federation.”

“Jim thought so too.” Phil’s expression took on a complex combination of pride and weariness. “Instead of firing the torpedoes, he took a ship to Kronos and retrieved John Harrison.”

“He got him?”

Phil nodded, “And made it back to the ship. The Enterprise had suffered a warp core malfunction— we’re pretty sure it was sabotage. They got running again, but in the intervening time, Jim talked to Harrison. He’s an augment. _The_ augment. Khan Noonein Singh. Marcus had him removed from cryo to engineer advanced weaponry for use against the Klingons.”

The story had taken a wrong turn without Chris realizing it. He could only softly protest, “But we’re not at war with the Klingons.”

“No,” anger flashed across Phil’s face, “but Marcus was damn sure it was coming, even if he had to start it himself.” A moment for Chris to process that, then he continued, “The torpedoes— they were hiding cryotubes, all augments. Marcus must have intended for them all to be killed with Khan, but the tables quickly turned as Jim realized Marcus was trying to destroy all the evidence of the augments. Then a ship showed up.”

Something clenched in Chris’ chest. “The Klingons?”

“The USS Vengeance”

“What?” Chris frowned, “That’s not—” _a ‘fleet ship_ died on his lips as Phil nodded and broke in.

“It was new, very advanced, and kept secret. It was Marcus, demanding Jim turn over Harrison— Khan— to them. Jim managed to get to warp. He was trying to get back to Earth to expose what was going on. They almost made it, too, but the Vengeance caught them coming past Luna. There’s a recording of the comm traffic— you can watch it _later_. Jim stood his ground… and Alexander Marcus tried to destroy the Enterprise.”

The air in the room was suddenly rarefied. Certain he’d misunderstood, Chris gasped, “He _what_?”

“Breathe, Chris.” Phil’s hand settled on his knee, grounding him, even as the story continued, “Carol was on the Enterprise. He transported her to the Vengeance, then tried to fire on the Enterprise. He was aiming to destroy it; he said as much to Jim.”

Chris grasped at the one word in that sentence that gave him hope, “Tried?”

“Tried. That Scottish engineer of Jim’s managed to disable the Vengeance’s weapons. Jim and Khan boarded the ship and managed to take the bridge.” Chris let out a breath of relief, but something in Phil’s eyes told him it wasn’t over. “Khan, got loose, somehow. Killed Marcus with his bare hands and transported Jim, Carol and Scott back to the Enterprise. Demanded the torpedoes with the rest of the augments. Spock tricked him— they took the cryotubes out and armed them. The Vengeance was crippled.”

Chris let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A squeeze to his knee warned him that more was coming.

“The ship was crippled, but Khan was able to direct it towards Earth. He tried to take out Starfleet Headquarters.”

“Take it out? Like, _crash a ship into it_ take it out?”

“Like crash a ship into it.”

“Holy shit.”

Phil’s expression turned grim and little lines of exhaustion were apparent around his eyes. “He took out a large section of waterfront and a few of the towers. Conservative estimates are fifteen thousand casualties, but those are going to go up.”

Fifteen _thousand_ dead in San Francisco. A rushing in Chris’ ears threatened to drown out Phil’s next words.

“The Enterprise suffered a warp core misalignment while in low, unstable orbit.”

That— That only led to one outcome in Chris’ mind. “It fell too?”

“It was falling, but Jim went into the core and realigned it manually. _Breathe_ , Chris.” Phil’s grip on his knee tightened, “Breathe, come on, that’s it.”

The grey that had been edging out Chris’ vision receded and he was left with Phil, brown eyes full of compassion. Choked, nearly strangled by emotion, he barely managed to get out, “He saved the ship?”

“He saved the ship.” Phil’s other hand gripped Chris’ other knee as he asserted, “And he died in the core, _but_ Leonard is working on it.”

“But he died.”

“He did. But Len put him in one of the cryotubes and is trying an experimental regenerative treatment.”

Chris refused to grasp at the hope that was being dangled in front of him. “You can’t _raise someone from the dead_.”

“For Jim, Len just might manage it.”

Holy shit. Focusing on Phil’s face, Chris managed to take a long, shaky breath, then assert, “I want to see him, Phil. I _need_ to see him.”

Any other day Phil would have protested. Said that he was still recovering; needed to stay put. Instead, Phil just gave his knees a squeeze and replied, “Okay.”

The compromise was a nasal cannula delivering oxygen, a wheelchair, and a strict time limit before he was to be flat on his back on a biobed again. 

Chris didn’t protest once, barely noticed Phil’s fussing as he was situated in the chair, wrapped in a ‘fleet-issue dressing gown and had thick socks rolled onto his feet.

Phil’s voice next to his ear made Chris jump, “Okay, fifteen minutes— non-negotiable. If you feel dizzy or short of breath, you tell me immediately.” Chris nodded and the chair jerked into motion, Phil talked as he pushed, “We’re in the diplomatic intensive care section right now, high security. It’s quiet because all the medics and nurses that can be spared are helping with the clean up effort and patients have been transported to hospitals in Seattle and Los Angeles.” They rolled along a deserted hallway of private rooms, footfalls around the corner at one point the only sign of other people. Eventually, they slowed, and in an uncharacteristic level of privacy Phil had to use his thumbprint to open the door.

The room smelled like illness, even with the air filtration system. And Jim… Chris swallowed. Jim didn’t look like Jim. The younger man’s features were swollen beyond recognition— cheeks and eyelids puffy and red, lips cracked and bloodied.

“Shhh.” The word from Phil made Chris realize there was someone else in the room. A shock of dark hair was barely visible from his low vantage point, on the other side of the bed near Jim’s hip. There was a whirring sound as Phil ran a scanner over the other man, clearly fast asleep with his head pillowed on his arm. 

A little frown of worry seemed to smooth as Phil consulted the results, then dialled up a dose of something and gently pressed a hypo to an exposed patch of skin.

Whispering, Chris asked, “Did you just sedate him?”

“Just a nutritional booster. He might wake up from our voices, but he’s been working non-stop so he might sleep through.”

Chris realized he’d forgotten to ask something before, “How long has it been?”

“Ten days.”

“Why does he—”

“Transfusion reactions. The serum kicked off a series of cytokine storms even as it regenerated the irradiated tissue. As soon as Len would get one under control, another would kick off.” 

Chris didn’t realize he was trembling until Phil’s hand settled on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s been stable for the last six hours, which is the longest so far.”

“He can’t breathe?”

Ventilators were rare to see; biobeds usually managed pulmonary support on their own. The tubing emerging from Jim’s mouth was invasive; almost obscene.

Phil’s hand dropped to Chris’ shoulder blade, rubbing reassuringly. “No. Not yet. But there is some brain activity.”

“Is that good or bad? Some?”

“Honestly?” The hand lifted and suddenly Phil dropped to crouch in front of the chair. “We’re so far beyond anything that’s ever been done before. Len’s doing his best, but he’s flying blind. Clinically speaking, Jim isn’t dead anymore so we’re just trying to ride out the transfusion reactions and hope he continues to improve. The cellular damage from the radiation is gone. Repaired like it didn’t exist. Whether we’ll get him back...” Phil swallowed, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“How—”

Phil swiftly cut off the question. “Probably best you don’t know. Suffice it to say that Leonard stumbled across an unconventional treatment.”

Chris hated to be left in the dark, but, hell, he’d always trusted Phil. “Can I?”

Sensing the intent of the question, Phil stood again and rolled the chair closer to the bed. “You can touch him, if you’d like. It won’t mess with the sensors.”

Tentatively, he brought up a hand to Jim’s shoulder. The younger man’s skin was warm through the flimsy gown. Alive. Chris’ jaw twitched with all the words he wanted to say. Instead, he closed his eyes and listened to the steady thrum of the vital monitors. Alive, he reminded himself. Alive.

“Time’s up.” Phil took the brakes of the chair and gently rolled it backwards, “You need your medication, a regen booster, and rest, but I can bring you back tomorrow.” 

Through it all, McCoy hadn’t stirred.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite Phil’s promise, they didn’t return the next day. The regen booster knocked him out and then physical therapy the following morning left Chris sleeping the rest of the day away. 

At some point Phil disabled the monitors and climbed up onto the bed as well, loosely holding Chris in his arms.

Waking to sunlight streaming through the blinds, Chris took a moment to orient himself before fumbling for the call button. Phil arrived as if he’d been waiting nearby, carrying a tray of breakfast— two breakfasts, in fact. “Morning.” A few of the lines of stress seemed to have vanished from his face. “Sleep well?” Setting one on the lap table for Chris, he settled into the visitor’s chair.

“You know I did.” Phil always asked, even though the monitors told him everything he needed to know. Chris looked at his own plate dubiously, then back to Phil to assert, “You hate hospital food.”

Phil gamely shoveled a forkful of slightly rubbery scrambled eggs into his mouth, swallowing before he replied, “There are still power outages in parts of the city, including my apartment. Non-essential workers have been evacuated while the major clean-up is underway. Civilians are liable to get in the way, even with good intentions.”

“You’ve been staying at the hospital?”

Phil looked sheepish, “Sleeping in my office, for the most part.”

The other man wouldn’t quite say it, but Chris was pretty sure he was the cause of that inconvenience. “Thanks.”

Phil just smiled, but it was enough said.

Chris forced himself to eat despite having little appetite— Phil would only pester him until he did. Besides, he was pretty sure he had to exhibit good behavior to be allowed out again. 

When Chris’ plate was clear, Phil ran a scanner over him and seemed to approve of what he found because the next words were, “Half an hour.”

“An hour.”

“You slept most of yesterday— you’re still recovering. Even sitting up will take it out of you.”

“And I’ll still have plenty of time left to sleep today, even if I spend an hour with Jim.”

The thing about Phil: he _always_ caved when it mattered: “Don’t make me regret this. You feel tired, you have to tell me right away.”

McCoy was awake this time, with his hair combed into some semblance of order incongruent with the bruises under his eyes. His worried frown became a little less pinched when they entered the room, and there was some semblance of a real smile when he greeted them, “Admiral. Phil.”

“How’s it looking today, Leonard?

The question was casually phrased, but the younger man stiffened as if being asked to give a formal report. “The transfusion reactions have calmed down and brain activity has continued to increase. The latest EEG looks almost normal for a coma, but I don’t know what else to do. Cortical stimulators could interact with whatever process is unfolding.”

“We’ll figure it out, Len. You’ve already done the impossible.”

Leonard just gave a weary nod, as if he’d heard such reassurance before.

A breathing tube still jutted out from between Jim’s lips and while some of the swelling had receded, his features were distorted. Phil rolled the wheelchair close to the head of the bed, and Chris couldn’t resist gently taking one lax hand in his own.

“I’ll give you a little time,” Leonard scrubbed a hand through his hair, “Get something to eat. _Comm me_ if anything doesn’t look right.”

They sat in silence for a while. Phil reviewed the displays and Jim’ chart; Chris just held the kid’s hand and ran over all the things he needed to say if— _when_ Jim woke up.

Eventually, Phil set down a padd and regarded Jim directly, an uneasy expression on his face.

“Phil?”

“I don’t know.”

Something tightened in Chris’ throat at the simple admission.

“I know he looks alive,” glancing at their joined hands, Phil added, “feels alive, but while the cells in his body are being regenerated, the brain activity… whether he’ll be able to wake-up. To be _Jim_... we can’t say yet.”

They sat in silence for a while— quite a while— while Chris digested that, absently running his thumb over a callous on Jim’s hand. The light changed in the room as clouds moved into view out the window. 

Voice rough, Chris eventually asked, “Is this what it’s supposed to be like?”

“Caring about young fool captains that crash headlong into danger to save others?” Phil’s tone bordered on sarcastic, but his eyes were kind as he said, “Yeah, seems about right.”

“How did you—”

Phil sat down, heavily, in a visitor’s chair next to Chris. “It never got any easier, if that’s what you’re asking.” Tentatively, he slung an arm around the back of the wheelchair and was gratified when Chris leaned into the contact without dropping Kirk’s hand.

A rustle in the doorway and Phil glanced up to see Leonard hovering, unsure if he should interrupt the moment or not. Before Phil could motion him in, the younger man held up a padd to indicate he was going to monitor Jim from the doctor’s lounge a few doors down.

A few more minutes passed and Chris became a heavier weight against Phil’s shoulder. Pressing a kiss to Chris’ temple, he softly said, “Come on, let’s get you back to your room and then I’ll make Len take a nap.”

**********************

Another night of strange, unsettling dreams and Chris was awake at dawn, waiting for Phil.

He drifted off again sometime after six, then woke with the clatter of a breakfast tray at nine-o-seven. Phil gently smoothed the probably sweaty hair back from Chris’ forehead as he said, “If you can eat all your eggs I’ll take you to see him before your PT, then again after.”

Two visits in one day was enough motivation for Chris to start shoveling the tasteless, rubbery mass into his mouth without complaint. If Phil looked smug, well, he wasn’t going to complain about that either.

The ventilator was gone and Jim’s features looked almost normal, just some bags under his eyes that could have been the result of a sleepless night. The air in the room had lost the odor of sweat and illness; it looked like someone had given Jim a portable sonic and combed his hair. He looked asleep this time, rather than critically ill.

Leonard was sitting in a chair by the bed as he reviewed something on a padd, a cup of coffee cooling at his elbow. He looked up, wearily, and something fragile fluttered in Chris’ chest at the expression on the doctor’s face.

Chris waited until Phil positioned his chair at the other side of the bed to ask, “Len?”

Setting down the padd, Leonard’s hazel eyes flitted from Phil to Chris before he cleared his throat and said, “It’s looking good.” The doctor’s tone was uncertain, as if he was struggling to convince himself.

“May I?” Phil held out a hand and took the padd, frowning as he read before his expression brightened and he confirmed, “It’s looking good.”

Chris’ right hand moved of its own accord to clutch at Jim’s lax one as we asked, “Really? Good, as in—”

“As in good.” Phil interjected firmly. “It looks like a normal EEG. As if he’s asleep, rather than comatose.”

Loosening his suddenly too-tight grip on Jim’s hand, Chris said, “He’s not waking up.”

“I don’t want to push it.” Leonard’s hands twitched as if he ached to touch the younger man as well. “He’ll wake up when he’s good and ready, and then we’ll see if there’s memory loss or anything… else.”

_Anything else_ made something lurch in Chris’ stomach, but he ignored it in favor of reaching up with his other hand to gently untwist where the sleeve of Jim’s hospital gown had become rucked up. Gently smoothing the fabric over Jim’s shoulder, he was dimly aware of Leonard excusing himself.

As he had the day before, Phil settled into a visitor’s chair alongside Chris’ wheelchair.

A propos of nothing, Chris said, “I was a bit of an asshole to him.”

Phil’s arm came around the back of the chair again, gently supportive as he replied, “The admiralty may have overreacted with the demotion to the academy, but you had every right to be angry that he lied to you.”

“No,” Chris ran his fingertip’s over Jim’s knuckles, wondering at the small triangular scar bisecting a crease. “I mean, I chewed him out, sure, but that’s not when I meant.” It had vaguely troubled him before, when an instinct to leap without looking sometimes felt more like the kid had an urge to prove himself, even after Nero. “When I dared him to join Starfleet I was frustrated. I could see so much in him and he was blowing me off; not listening. I just wanted to get through to him because I _knew_ he could do so much if he didn’t go back to whatever the fuck he’d been doing in Iowa.”

“You ever ask him about that?” Phil shifted to look at Chris’ profile as he asked, “What he’d been doing in Iowa? Hanging around the shipyards? How he felt about joining?”

“No. I mean, I pulled his records and knew where he’d been working. Spending time. But we didn’t really talk about it. Once he was here we mostly talked about academics, then the Enterprise launch, then being in command… until he pulled that stunt.” A moment of silence stretched, then he continued, “Just before the call to Daystrom: I told Jim how I convinced them he should be my first officer; that I believed in him and he deserved a second chance.” Chris finally raised his gaze from Jim’s hand to Phil’s face. “I told him it would be okay. I hope he knew I meant it.”

“He knew, Chris.” Phil held the other man’s gaze as he softly asserted, “I promise you he knew. And in the next couple of days, you can tell him again yourself.”

Chris exhaled a shaky breath and asked, “You think so?”

“I do.” Phil just really, really, hoped he was right.


	3. Chapter 3

“Suit up, Chris.”

The sudden intrusion into his room made Chris startle, but it was only Phil. “Can I?” Actual clothes would feel so good after days in ‘fleet issue medical pyjamas. It would be one tiny step closer to things feeling more normal. “Do you have a uniform?”

“That was metaphorical.” Phil yanked the wheelchair out of the corner and made a motion for Chris to sit. “Jim’s waking up.”

They must have broken a speed record dashing across the hospital wing. Phil pushed the chair to the head off the bed, opposite from where Leonard was hovering and Spock patiently waited. 

Chris gripped the arms of the wheelchair so tightly his knuckles turned white, attention on the younger man’s slack features. No one spoke; no one even moved while they waited.

Jim gave a little gasp, like dying in reverse, and his eyes abruptly opened.

Leonard took it in stride. Leaning over the bed as he said, “Oh, don't be so melodramatic. You were barely dead.” A scanner whirred like an intrusive mosquito. “It was the transfusion that really took its toll. You were out cold for two weeks.”

Jim’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as he asked, “Transfusion?”

“Your cells were heavily irradiated. We had no choice.”

“Khan?”

“Once we caught him, I synthesised a serum from his super-blood.” Leonard waved the scanner in the air as he asked, “Tell me, are you feeling homicidal? Power mad? Despotic?”

Jim smiled, recognizing their familiar banter. “No more than usual. How'd you catch him?”

“I didn't.” Leonard ceded the prime spot beside the bed so Spock could step forward.

Jim’s expression brightened further as he asserted, “You saved my life.”

The grumble from the background was immediate, “Uhura and I had something to do with it, too, you know.” 

Jim glanced over, but didn’t otherwise spare a thought for the doctor when Spock replied, “You saved my life, Captain, and the lives of—”

“Spock, just.” Jim’s expression made the Vulcan pause. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Jim.” Spock’s gaze flickered from Jim to Chris and the younger man was suddenly aware someone else was in the room. 

Expecting another member of his crew, probably Uhura, Jim turned to look over his left shoulder and froze, eyes widening as he caught sight of Chris.

Suddenly choked up, Chris had to swallow hard to manage to say, “Hi, Jim.”

Jim’s mouth moved soundlessly, then he made a small noise of distress high in his throat.

The wheelchair moved without Chris asking, Phil pushing him forward the few feet that let him grab Jim in the tight hug. The kid was shaking and gave a gasping breath that sounded on the verge of tears. Chris couldn’t help but make a shushing noise, and murmur, “It’s okay, son.” 

Muffled, Jim’s voice was barely audible, “I thought—”

“I know,” Chris gripped even more tightly, as much for his own comfort as Jim’s, “but I’m fine.” They were clinging to each other, he realized. Clinging in a way that said to hell with decorum.

A cleared throat made them release each other and pull apart. Leonard’s eyes were filled with apology as he said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run some tests.”

“Can—” Jim’s eyes were a little too bright, “Can Chris come back? After?”

Leonard and Phil exchanged a glance, laden with medical reality and negotiation. Some agreement seemed to be reached, because Phil answered, “Yes, but only for an hour and then you both need to rest. Non-negotiable.”

Chris expected Jim to protest, but instead the younger man just nodded with something of a slack-jawed expression, as if he didn’t quite believe he was awake. Spock had already excused himself; Phil pushed the wheelchair out into the hallway, turning left instead of right and taking them into a deserted doctor’s lounge. There was a long sofa along one wall— Phil set the brakes on the chair and deftly transferred Chris onto the furniture before pouring a cup of water and settling next to the other man.

Catching Phil’s brown eyes, Chris asked, “Jim looked good, right? What’s Leonard checking?”

“Just a standard battery: reflexes, motor responses, basic cognitive function.”

“But,” Chris found himself needing reassurance, even if it was speculative, “He seemed okay to you?”

Phil gently took Chris’ right hand in his own, carefully loosening the tight fist as he confirmed, “He seemed like Jim to me.”

“He died.” Still, days later, Chris could and couldn’t quite believe it. “ _I died_.”

“You did.” Without any warning at all, Chris found himself _bawling_ in a manner entirely unbecoming a ‘fleet admiral with as many years in the black as he had. Phil seemed to have expected it, because there was a mumbled, “Oh, Chris—” and then he was pulled against the other man’s chest and encircled in a tight hug. 

Phil just let him cry for a while, even though it was getting tears and snot all over the front of his uniform. Eventually, Chris became aware of words murmured into his hair. “Jim’s going to be okay. You’re _both_ going to be okay.”

Eventually, a comm chimed and they pulled apart. 

“I’m sorry, I—” Chris didn’t even understand the reaction, to be honest, because everything was _fine_. “I don’t know where that came from. I just…” Flummoxed, he trailed off and felt his cheeks pinking even though it was _Phil_.

“Come on.” Phil ignored the embarrassment and pressed a kiss to Chris’ forehead. “Let’s clean your face and let your eyes get a bit less red and we can go back.”

“I’m sorry,” the apologies kept coming as Chris tried to make sense of it for himself, “I don’t know why I can’t keep it together.”

“You’re exhausted and you still have a load of drugs in your system helping you heal; your inhibitions are liable to be a little lower. It’s _fine_ , Chris. If anything, it’s good for you.”

“I’ve lost people before and it wasn’t like this. Jim…” He couldn’t quite find the words to explain why it was so different with Kirk.

“Christopher Pike, for someone so adamantly child-free in your twenties, thirties, _and_ forties you sound downright paternal.” Phil pressed a kiss to Chris’ knuckles to show he was teasing as he continued, “Don’t tell me you’ve mellowed.”

Sudden unease clawed at Chris’ stomach, because he’d taken Phil along for the ride of _career rather than offspring_.

As if sensing the discomfort, Phil’s tone gentled and he asserted, “Chris, there’s a world of difference between having a child and becoming the father figure for an adult at fifty-seven.”

“Not everyone would call Kirk an adult.”

Phil’s tone was so very kind as he replied, “Baby-captain then?”

The image was enough for Chris to take a shaky breath and give a fleeting smile before the expression vanished. “God, Phil. Is it always going to feel like this?” A cocked eyebrow requested clarification so he admitted, “A part of me is _terrified_ to send him back out there.”

“You’ve known since the moment you spotted him sprawled in that dive bar that he belongs out there; same as you did.” Phil paused to choose his next words carefully, eventually settling for, “Don’t wall yourself off. He needs you, Chris. He’s still growing into those stripes.”

“When did you become so wise?”

“Please,” Phil rolled his eyes but his smile was fond, “being your sounding board for thirty years gave me ample opportunity.” Phil’s comm chimed again, this time with a tone that indicated it was McCoy. “Sounds like Jim’s ready for a visitor. I’ll take Leonard down to the cafeteria and force-feed him some vegetables while you talk. I’m pretty sure he’s been existing on protein bars and nutritional supplements.”

“Speaking of paternal—”

Phil shrugged, unabashed, “Everyone’s known they’re a package deal since you recruited their co-dependent asses.” He transferred Chris back to the wheelchair, planting a kiss on the top of the other man’s head before setting them in motion. “Let’s go see our boys.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was an emotional stalemate in matching ‘fleet medical dressing gowns. Phil and Len had excused themselves, McCoy with a lingering hand on Jim’s clavicle before he seemed to force himself to let go.

Jim was wrapped up tightly in his bed, cheeks flushed with sitting up and what was unmistakably _health_ despite only recently taking his first unassisted breath in weeks.

In comparison, Chris felt decidedly wan and was sure he looked the part of death warmed over as well. Jim’s gaze seemed to be flitting around the room with nervous energy. He’d offered a heartfelt, “It’s good to see you, sir.”

To which Chris had replied with, “It’s good to see you, Jim,” followed by, “Leonard fill you in on what happened?” Heartfelt, but almost impersonal.

“Yeah, just briefly.” Jim licked his lips. “I kinda forced him too.”

The uncertainty was palpable, so Chris hastened to insist, “It’s not your fault. You did _good_. You got through an impossible situation better than anyone else could have. Don’t let anyone try to tell you otherwise. Don’t tell _yourself_ otherwise.” Jim nodded, even though he looked faintly unconvinced. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them until Chris couldn’t stand it anymore. “Oh, Hell, Jim. Come here.” The biobed was perilously narrow and Chris’ arms still struggled to leverage his own weight out of the wheelchair unassisted, but he managed to get himself up and perched on the side of the bed. 

Hip-to-hip, Jim seemed to crave contact as he subtly leaned into Chris’ side. Softly, the younger man said, “I thought you were dead.”

“Son,” and this time it meant _son_ , “I’m sorry.” Chris shifted, slinging an arm around the kid’s shoulders in a loose approximation of a one-armed hug. “I’ve been one hell of an advocate for you behind closed doors, but I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could be honest with me.”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble.” Chris waited, and sure enough after a few moments of silence Jim exhaled and admitted, “Okay, I didn’t want to let you down. The Prime Directive… you _believe_ in it and I— I couldn’t let that species die. I couldn’t let _Spock_ die. I mean, yeah, I thought I knew better than the rules and I _was_ too fucking cocky about it, but I’m still not sure I was wrong.”

Chris rolled a hundred of his early missions around in his memory and softly replied, “There’s a reason captains are supposed to work their way up through the ranks; to accumulate some years in the black. It’s not so clear-cut, no matter how the rules are written. I wish you could have come up there with me at first. To face those kinds of choices together before leaving you on your own.” He couldn’t quite keep a husk of emotion out of his tone as he said, “I wanted you as my officer since I peeled you off that table in Iowa. I knew we could make one hell of a team.”

A moment of silence, and then, softly, “You didn’t even know me then— you just saw my test scores and my father.”

The words would have hurt, if they didn’t radiate uncertainty that should have long been put to bed. Chris gave a gruff snort that was almost a laugh as he asserted, “No one could’ve looked past those napkins dangling out of your nostrils and just seen test scores and George Kirk. You were your own man, Jim. You caught my attention in your own right— you had presence, even with blood all over your shirt.”

From the corner of his eye, Chris could see the smallest of smiles curling Jim’s lips as he softly replied, “Yeah?”

“You should have heard me on the comm to Phil after you left.” And, really, Chris wished he had a recording for Jim. He was pretty sure he’d embarrassed himself with the torrent of excitement and uncertainty he’d dropped on Phil that night. “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up the next day, but I damned well hoped.”

“Admiral Marcus said he recruited you to Starfleet.”

“He did,” Chris felt Jim tense slightly under his arm, and hastened to add, “But it was the old man who made sure I stayed.”

There was only one Admiral who had earned that title in the ‘fleet. Jim’s expressive eyebrows drew together in surprise as he asked, “Jonathan Archer?”

“He’d been retired for years, but was still a pretty familiar figure around headquarters and the shipyards— could never quite resist a new engine being launched. It was his 114th birthday and I was a twenty-two year old lieutenant junior grade.” Chris paused for effect then admitted, “He found me having a panic attack on a park bench in the Presidio.” Jim gave a little noise of surprise or disbelief, so Chris insisted, “He did— he’d been walking his dog when he spotted me with my head between my knees.” Not many people knew the story— Phil, because it was his story too, to some degree, but Chris never shared it too widely.

“Why were you freaking out?”

“I’d lost someone four days before— my first time leading an away mission.” Even after all these years it still made him take a shaky breath, “And it was stupid, and senseless, and they’d been a good friend. It wouldn’t have happened if there hadn’t been a misstep; a cultural misunderstanding that escalated. The Aldrin was recalled to Earth and I skipped out on mandatory counseling because an old family friend commed me to offer a place at Stanford doing a doctorate in interplanetary sociology.”

Jim’s eyebrows drew together in disbelief. “You almost left Starfleet?”

Chris hummed an affirmative, then replied, “I was seriously thinking of going.”

“What happened?”

“He asked me what was wrong— and listened. I just about had another panic attack a week later when I remembered everything that I said about the ‘fleet to _Jonathan Archer_ of all people, but at the time it just all came out.” A ghost of a smile tugged at Jim’s lips, so Chris continued, “When I was done he said it was my choice to make, but that he couldn’t leave me on a bench looking so pathetic so the natural solution was that I come with him and attend his birthday party that afternoon.”

The way Jim’s mouth dropped open would have been comical, if not for the nature of the conversation. There was a plaintive note in his voice as he said, “Please tell me you went.”

“He warned me it would be mostly admirals and diplomats, but that a friend’s son who was an ensign would be there and he would introduce me to Genevieve de Maartins who had just negotiated the Praxanar treaty to sweeten the deal.”

“So you went?”

“So I went.” Chris couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “And the admirals and diplomats were surprisingly tolerant of a random lieutenant in their midst and Genevieve Maartins was incredibly impressive, but it was the only other person under sixty-five who really got to me. Ensign Philip Boyce, medical sciences division. Archer introduced us in a way that had Phil _immediately_ sniffing out what was really going on.” 

“You know what he said to me?” At Jim’s minute head shake, Chris smiled and recounted, “First he listened as I told the story again, then Phil pressed a finger to his insignia and said, ‘You understand what this is, don't you? It's important. We’re a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada.’” 

Eyes widening in recognition, Jim murmured, “I’m almost hurt that you didn’t come up with that yourself.”

Sensing the gentle teasing underlying the younger man’s words, Chris softly asserted, “They’re words that meant a lot to me. Still do.”

A moment, and then Jim exhaled and slumped against Chris’ side more heavily, as if craving contact as he admitted, “Bones is really mad at me.”

“What’d you do?” Because if Chris knew one thing about McCoy, it was that beneath the gruff exterior he had an unbelievable amount of patience where Jim was concerned.

“He wasn’t there.” Jim roughly cleared his throat, then explained, “When it happened. They called Spock down, but not Bones.” The younger man’s gaze dropped and he plucked at a loose thread on his sleeve. Chris just waited, and sure enough more words started to tumble out, “At the time I didn’t really realize— Spock— we needed to talk, after everything that had happened. But, Bones… He wasn’t there and he needed to be.” Chris tightened the arm around Jim’s shoulders as the kid continued, “He’s the CMO: I know he was busy in the medical bay, but when Bones said he’d had to open a body bag to see me—” Jim’s face twisted with emotion as he softly admitted, “That he didn’t even _know_ when they first brought me in—”

The silence stretched. Jim seemed mute with the thought of what it must have been like for the other man: not even knowing the corpse in the bag was Jim.

Mulling over what to say next, Chris eventually settled on, “That park bench wasn’t the last time I almost quit Starfleet.” It seemed a propos of nothing, but Jim just listened; trusting it was important. “I lost three crewmen on Rigel VII— including my yeoman.” The memory still made regret well acutely in Chris’ stomach. “I’d been complacent, or thought I had, anyway. Phil found me in my quarters, and I told him I was thinking of leaving.” It was a conversation that had profoundly shaped the rest of his life. An inflection point in how Chris thought of the role of a captain. “He told me I set standards for myself no one could meet. That I treated everyone on board like a human being except myself." 

Jim gave a little noise that suggested he was taking it on board, so Chris continued, “You know what else Phil told me? ‘A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on, and licks it. Or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.’ So you go back to Leonard and you tell him what needs to be said, and from here on out, you meet it head-on, together.” Because that was the crux of it. For all that _Kirk and McCoy_ were understood to be a package deal, Jim needed to make it _clear_ just what that meant.

Fiddling again with his sleeve, Jim softly replied, “I’m trying, okay? Sometimes I don’t know how to be everything you want me to be.”

Sensing that the _you_ was bigger than Chris himself, probably encompassing the admiralty and the Enterprise crew, he carefully replied, “Jim— I can’t imagine what it was like: being promoted to captain so young. Let yourself be human, even if just with your senior staff. You and Leonard deserve that much.”

Jim took a long, shuddering breath, but when he spoke there was something tentative in his voice that seemed like hope. “The regs… I mean, I know I have a reputation and Bones, he’s pretty traditional about stuff and he was promoted pretty young too, for a CMO. His staff really respect him, but I didn’t want anyone to think…”

“You were trying to be professional?” Chris couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at his lips, despite the fact the situation was a mess. Of all the rules Kirk would get in his head to actually follow. 

A chance to say more was forestalled by the door opening as Phil and Leonard returned from the canteen. “Alright, you two,” Phil rolled his eyes, fondly, at the sight of them perched on a single bed, “You’re both supposed to be resting, not to mention there’s a panel of hypos with your names on them.”

There was a puffiness around Leonard’s eyes that deterred Chris from asking any questions about where he’d been with Phil. Instead, he allowed himself to be helped off the bed and back into his wheelchair without complaint. 

Jim and Leonard were eyeing each other in a way that made Chris _really_ hope they’d actually talk rather than tap dance around the issue and snipe at each other, no matter how good-natured their sniping usually was. 

Phil set the chair in motion towards the door and Chris had to twist back to say, “Jim— I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

The relief on the younger man’s face was unmistakable.

The trip back through the hospital was much more sedate, although the strangeness of the wards being so quiet was still unnerving.

“Can we go home tonight?” The _we_ wasn’t lost on Phil, as the chair slowed momentarily before continuing. Chris counted as they rolled past one, two, three rooms before he pressed, “I just want a real bed—” And that wasn’t really the point at all. Sensing that Phil was listening, Chris admitted, “I’d rather not be alone.”

It was a roundabout invitation, but after a moment the other man sighed and softly replied, “You’re not strictly ready to be discharged. We’ll need monitoring equipment, and you’ll have to come back first thing in the morning.”

“Please?”

“Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chris’ house had a closed-in scent to it, despite the fact it was just a few weeks since he walked out the door to try and find Jim in a bar. Little motes of dust floated in the early evening sunlight sloping through the windows. 

_Home_.

It felt good.

It felt even better when Phil rounded the corner from the kitchen where he’d been poking at the contents of the stasis unit.

Phil— in a slightly rumpled uniform with the jacket already undone and shoes kicked off by the door. Chris found himself speaking without really thinking, “I gave Jim some advice.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I gave him a lot of advice. Some of it was actually yours. But some was mine, and,” Chris was surprised to find his throat tightening with nerves, “I think you should give up your apartment.” Phil just looked at him, and Chris’ mouth hurried to explain, “I know it’s closer to Medical and we agreed it made sense, but if you really need to get in quickly you can beam, and—”

“Chris.” Phil’s eyes were so very kind as he crossed the room and crouched in front of Chris’ chair, “I’d like that.”

“You would?”

“Of course I would.” Phil reached up and pressed a hand against the front of Chris’ ‘Fleet medical sweatshirt, right where the blast had stopped his heart.

Chris imagined he could feel the warmth of Phil’s palm even through the thick fabric. It was suddenly important that Phil understand, even if Chris wasn’t quite sure how to put it himself. “I don’t want it to be _my_ house any more; I want it to be _ours_.

Phil just smiled, stretched up and murmured into Chris’ ear, “It’s about time.”

**********************

They’d forgotten to close the blinds. 

Chris shifted, burrowing into the pillow and trying to escape the sunlight. Phil was curled against his back, little puffs of breath tickling the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A padd chimed. _His_ padd, where he’d left it on the nightstand almost three weeks ago. The chime meant the message had come from ‘fleet command. High priority. Reaching out blindly, Chris managed to snag it and open the message.

Initially, the words don’t quite make sense:

_From: Starfleet Commander in Chief_  
_To: Pike, Christopher_  
_Alert: Promotion Notification_  
_Christopher Pike, promotion to the rank of Fleet Admiral and appointment as Chief of Staff._

Chris had to read it three times to be able to comprehend that, yes, they’ve just made him the second in command _of the entire ‘Fleet_.

“Phil?” His voice didn’t sound right to his own ears. “Phil, wake up.”

“Hmmm?” Phil hummed a question, attempting to curl more tightly around Chris.

“Phil, I need you to read this for me.”

“What?” Confused, sleepy brown eyes regarded him from the other pillow.

Chris thrust the padd at the other man and insisted, “Read this.”

Phil took the padd and read, forehead creasing for a moment before he carefully set it down on the far side of the bed.

“Did I r—” Chris didn’t get the words out before he was tackled by six foot two of lanky doctor. 

Phil pressed their lips together, half on top of Chris, before he pulled back to say, “Congratulations,” and then kissed him again.

Chief of Staff.

_Chief-of-Motherfucking-Staff_

He needed to comm Una. 

Sensing his excitement, Phil planted one last kiss squarely between Chris’ eyes, then pulled back, beaming as he said, “You comm your friends and I’ll cook a celebratory breakfast, after I have _serious words_ with Nogura about what, exactly, constitutes _medical leave_.”

Kicking back the covers, he handed Chris the padd then pulled on a sweatshirt, casting a fond smile back before padding out of the room on bare feet.

It was a beautiful morning: bright sunshine streaming in the windows of Chris’— _their_ kitchen. Their home. They’d been openly together for years, many years, but with Chris in and out of the black and Phil so often on call at Medical they had never quite settled into this house together, tucked away outside of the city.

His apartment in the city was spartan, but surrounded by colleagues who had become good friends. There was always someone around and up for a beer after a long or trying shift— a camaraderie that he’d relied on when they didn’t ship out together. That said, most of his things had migrated to Chris’ over the years; it would probably only take a day or two to move the rest.

Their house.

Phil smiled to himself as he pulled a frying pan out of the cupboard.

**********************

Shouldering the bedroom door open as he balanced two plates of french toast, Phil announced, “I messaged Len— told him you’d be in to see Jim this afternoon. I figured you had some Chief of Staff stuff to do before they formally announced it to everyone.” 

“You know the ‘Fleet never sleeps.” It would have been a complaint, but for the pleased smile on Chris’ face. “I’ve got six ship requisition orders to review, two proposed trade-talks, and there are sixteen policy changes under consideration given the further loss of life and changes to command structure.” It was a quirk of Starfleet structure that the Commander in Chief was the number one, but the Chief of Staff actually got stuff _done_. For all intents and purposes, Chris had more immediate control of ‘Fleet operations.

Setting aside his padd, Chris accepted a plate with an appreciative inhale and grateful, “This looks amazing.” They ate in companionable silence before settling back against the headboard and nursing cups of coffee. The trees outside the window moved in the breeze and while it wasn’t the stars, he had to admit it was a pretty damn good view.

That said, the view inside the room was even better.

Phil’s eyes were closed as he savored a sip of coffee— Chris bought his beans from a local roaster and it was worth the price. The unguarded expression on the other man’s face reminded Chris he’d meant to ask, “What’d you tell Leonard?” For a moment he wasn’t sure Phil had actually heard him, then emotion flitted across the doctor’s face and he opened his eyes.

“Something you said to me once, actually.” Phil shifted so he could better look Chris in the eye as he quoted, “Sometimes captains have a tendency to take things for granted that they shouldn’t.”

The words punched the air out of Chris’ lungs because, hell, how could he be so perceptive and naive at the same time? “When did I tell you that?”

“After Altair IV.”

_Oh_. And hadn’t that been one for the history books. Carefully, Chris offered, “Can’t say I was wrong.”

Phil just gave him a small smile, then leaned over to kiss him, reassuringly. “We got there in the end.”

**********************

_From: Starfleet Chief of Staff_  
_To: Starfleet Admirals (all); Starfleet Captains (all)_  
_Directive: Amendment to Fraternization Rules— Effective Immediately_

Jim read the full text twice, mouth going dry as he realized the implications.

Underneath was a personal note: _Don’t wait as long as I did. -Chris_

Holy shit.

They’d made Chris the _Chief of Staff_.

Jim blinked at the padd. The text stayed the same, staring back at him. They’d made Chris the Chief of Staff, and his first directive was to change the fraternization regs and ship duty policies. 

Priority would be given for couples jointly petitioning to ship postings, rather than just consideration. A captain could be in a declared relationship with a member of his command crew, so long as either the first officer or chief medical officer was independent and empowered to stand-down the other two if needed. It was all there: carefully spelled out and thoroughly justified given how the command ranks had been decimated in the last five years and Starfleet’s renewed commitment to scientific, humanitarian, and peacekeeping priorities. 

Carefully setting down the padd, Jim glanced over to where Leonard was sitting in the visitor’s chair by the window, scowling at something on his own padd. The other man’s hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. Little lines of stress that were present the day before had faded, slightly, with a night’s sleep, but he still looked tired. 

“Hey, Bones.”

Leonard looked up quickly, concern flitting across his face.

“Come here.”

Forehead creasing, Leonard started to reach for a scanner in an almost reflexive gesture.

“No— I’m fine. Just,” Jim patted the bed, “come here, please?”

Warily, Leonard set down his padd and crossed the room, stopping beside the bed with his arms crossed.

“Can you sit?”

Eyes narrowing, Leonard cast his gaze up and down and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I promise. I just— can you sit? Please?”

Grudgingly, looking like he wanted to say something, Leonard perched on the side of the bed so they could face each other.

Gathering his courage, Jim started with, “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” It was a question and a challenge rolled into one.

“Okay, several apologies, starting with being an asshole before we left spacedock, ignoring you, Carol, dying, not thanking you for saving my life…” The other man was watching him closely, hazel eyes wide. It spurred Jim on to manage to say, “and most importantly for not making it clear what you mean to me.”

“Jim—”

“You should have been there, Bones. They should have thought to call you right away.” A stricken expression crossed Leonard’s face and he seemed unable to reply. Jim hastened to continue, “They’ve changed the rules. _Chris_ has changed the rules— I know you have to keep the CMO quarters in case you need to be next to the med bay during a critical situation, but I can request changes to my quarters for domestic partners and I thought I could get Scotty to install a second computer terminal so it’s easier to hang out in the evening and you can stay over so they’ll expect to find us together.”

Leonard’s eyebrows twitched as he attempted to unpack the rambling assertion. Eventually he pursed his lips and asked, “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Yes?” The word rose at the end, as if it was a question.

“Well?”

“Well?” Jim parroted, weakly.

Something tugged at the corner of Leonard’s mouth. “Well ask me then.”

Gathering his courage, Jim asked, “Will you move in with me? On the Enterprise?”

“Just on the Enterprise?”

Unsure if he was pressing his luck, Jim offered, “Here too?”

Leonard replied so quickly it almost seemed like he’d considered it before, “I want a new apartment, not that bachelor pad of yours on the hundred and sixteenth floor with all the shuttle traffic outside.”

Sensing the world shifting under his feet even faster than Jim had expected, he tentatively said, “We could request one of the ‘Fleet townhouses in Palo Alto. They’re reserved for furloughed command crew, but just about everyone is off-planet now. It’s only fifteen minutes on the train from HQ.”

“And we’re exclusive.”

Jim blinked. He’d assumed that had gone without saying as a part of the offer, but, okay, after the twins and Carol and, well, his entire twenties to-date it was fair to clarify. “Exclusive.” The expression on Leonard’s face was hard to read, but his gaze was intense. Jim felt transfixed; open to scrutiny and stripped bare.

“All right then.”

It seemed somehow too easy. _Are you sure? _was on the tip of his tongue, but instead Jim simply asked, “Bones?”__

__Leonard gave a little shrug. “Put in the request for quarters and ask if something is available immediately. You’ll probably be well enough for discharge in the next few days— no reason why you couldn’t recuperate at home while I get things moved in. You’re off duty for at least three weeks.”_ _

__Swallowing down the desire to protest _three weeks_ , Jim reached for his padd and called up the ‘fleet housing intranet. Watching Leonard out of the corner of his eye, he logged in and brought up the listings of available locations. Sure enough, there was a townhouse in Palo Alto flagged as unoccupied. “Two bedrooms, end of the block, with a garden in the back?” It was as much of a question as a challenge. _Are you sure?__ _

__Leonard nodded, just a small jerk of his chin.._ _

__Mouth dry, Jim tapped the little _Request_ button._ _

__A confirmation notice popped up._ _

__“When will we know—”_ _

__The padd chimed. Jim looked down and felt a little faint to see a new notification: _Approved_. He licked his lips and glanced up to meet Leonard’s eyes and report, “Uh, now, actually.”_ _

__A slow smile settled on Leonard’s face, voice warm and drawl more pronounced as he asked, “We got it?”_ _

__Mutely, Jim nodded._ _

__Leonard’s smile only broadened. He reached out and carefully plucked the padd out of Jim’s lax fingers, setting it aside. Hitching towards the head of the bed, he stopped well inside the younger man’s personal space. “We’ll have to have Chris and Phil over for dinner, once we get settled in.”_ _

__Weakly, Jim asked, “Dinner?”_ _

__“Housewarmings are something of a tradition. Even if it’s temporary quarters we’re likely to be here for a year.” Captain or not, Jim still looked slightly flummoxed by the sudden change in his world. Leonard just smiled, leaned forward, and murmured into Jim’s ear, “It’s about time.”_ _

___That_ seemed to land, as Jim nodded his agreement and when Leonard telegraphed his intent, met the other man’s lips in a gentle kiss._ _

__It felt good, so they kissed again. Intimacy wasn’t unfamiliar between them, but now… now it meant something to the wider world. Now they’d made a statement to the ‘Fleet— the housing request was likely pinging from inbox to inbox across the admiralty._ _

__They kissed again before Leonard pulled back, sweeping a thumb across Jim’s cheekbone as he smiled, affection dancing in his hazel eyes._ _

__Jim managed a crooked smile in return, and asked, “What would I do without you, Bones?”_ _

__Leonard leaned in to kiss Jim again, then softly asserted, “The good news is you’ll never have to find out.”_ _


End file.
